


Tommy

by Poasoianna



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Harrowing, Thomas is young, same username
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 08:03:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14184519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poasoianna/pseuds/Poasoianna
Summary: He opened his eyes to darkness.





	Tommy

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this story on fanfiction and I will be uploading it to this site over time. I wrote most of it when I was fifteen so I will be editing it as I post. It might end up a little different. It is not complete on fanfiction and though the general concept is the same I will be making some major plot changes. I'll post a similar note on ff.net. With that said, thanks for reading!

He opened his eyes to darkness.

  
His cheek was pressed against cold metal, and his body throbbed as though bruised. He reached his hand out, the fingertips numb and clumsy from the icy temperature. He was sure that were it light he'd be able to see his breath misting.

  
He swatted in the pitch black a few times, panic building, before he dragged himself into a sitting position. The floor was definitely metal; smooth, cold and somewhat slippery.

  
Where was he?

Taking a shaking breath, he closed his eyes- there was no point having them open in the first place. He tried to remember how he'd come to be there, what had happened- why he was hurting so bad.

  
But he couldn't.

  
He breathed in and out, and apart from the hoarseness of his laborious breaths, there was only silence. There was nothing but a black hole in his mind. It fused with the darkness surrounding him, and he found himself questioning whether he was really there at all.

  
Except of course, as he pressed his palms to the icy floor, the cold bringing him back to his surreal reality, he was.

  
A sudden shaking made him cry out in surprise. The previously stable ground beneath him seemed to tip sideways, and he slid. Tears sprung to his eyes as his head collided with another solid, metal surface.

  
He huddled in what felt like a corner as the movement began in full force. He was sobbing now- his head hurt. Everything hurt really, and he was scared and lost and alone.

  
He tried to speak but he couldn't, and he choked on his tears as his head hit the wall again. He pounded on the floor, screaming, as if maybe someone would answer his cries that way.

  
All he got was a rattling groan of acceleration.

  
His breath hitched. It was too fast. Too fast. What would happen when it stopped, what if-

  
There was a terrifying sound of metal hitting metal, and he found himself flying forward, hitting what appeared to be the other side of the massive metal box he was in.

  
And just like that, the moving stopped.

  
Heart pounding, he slowly stood, leaning against the wall for support. He was blind in the darkness, and he kept a hand firmly on the side of the box as he took several harsh breaths.  
Then there was more noise, but this time voices, and scuffling, and hinges and then-

  
Light.

  
There was sky and fresh air, and a grassy smell. And peering down at him were the source of the voices.

  
There were people standing above him. All men- or perhaps more accurately boys, for none looked a day older than twenty-two. A fresh sheen of tears sprung behind his eyes, and though he battled them valiantly, exhaustion and fear won out. He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it, backing as far away as he could from the group of strangers.

  
The confusion on his face was mirrored by the men.

  
“It’s a kid.” Someone whispered. “Why did they send a kid?”

  
"I don't understand."

  
"What the shuck is this?"

  
"We should send him back down the shaft."

  
"He won't be able to work-"

  
"Everyone can it!"

  
The last speaker was dark-skinned, his hair cropped short and his face clean shaven. He had an authoritative air about him, and those around him fell silent instantly. He appeared to be one of the oldest- early twenties at best guess.

  
"Newt," The man spoke again. "Go down and collect the Greenie will you? I dunno if he'll even understand."

  
Another man- similarly aged, but slighter and blonde- nodded his agreement, climbing over the edge and slowly lowering himself down so that he was hanging by his fingertips, before letting go and dropping the last few feet. He knelt, his face open and kind as he faced the now proclaimed 'Greenie'.

  
"Hey there," Newt said, his voice soothing. "Do you want to get out of here?"

  
The Greenie nodded, though he made no move toward the older boy, and he finally spoke, in a voice still unbroken. "Where am I?" His face was still covered in tears and he sniffed noisily- his head was stuffy and his face was burning.

  
Newt shook his head. "There's time for that later. We need to get out of this box." He stood, still bent slightly as he offered a hand. "Come on." He spoke calmly, as though he were used to this kind of situation.

His eyes, however, seemed to flicker anxiously. "You can do it. Please."

  
The Greenie reached out a trembling hand and let himself be pulled towards a rope that was dangling over the edge. Newt helped him put his feet in the right holds, and he clutched the rope as he was jerkily hauled up. Many different hands seemed to grab hold of different parts of him and he found himself standing on fresh green grass. He froze, feeling the many eyes bore into him, and more tears bubbled up beneath his eyelids. He was vaguely aware of Newt being pulled up beside him.

  
Someone put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's move away from the drop, huh?"

  
He let himself be led away, and when they were a significant distance from the box, the hand fell.

  
"So, Greenie." The first man, the leader it seemed, spoke to him. It was intimidating. There was a foot and a bit in height difference between them. "How old are you?"

  
"He's not gonna know, Alby." Newt said from somewhere to the side. "Not yet anyway.

  
"This is wrong." The man called Alby replied. "He's a child. They've never sent a child before." He scowled, before muttering, "What are we gonna do with a child?"

  
"Is Greenie my name?" 'Greenie' asked, hesitantly.

  
"No." Alby looked down, and his eyes softened slightly. "You don't remember your name?"

  
Greenie shook his head. "I'm sorry." He didn't know. He didn't know anything.

  
The blond man, Newt, put his hand on Greenie's shoulder. He seemed kinder than Alby, and Greenie unconsciously moved towards him. "Don't be sorry kiddo," He said gently. "And don't worry neither. You'll get it. S'the one thing they let us keep." He sighed. "Alby's right though- would be nice to know how old you are."

  
"How old do you think I am?" Greenie asked. He was still trembling, and he couldn't seem to quell it.

  
Newt shrugged. "Ten, maybe eleven? I don't know Greenie, I'm not good with ages. But you're young for sure."

  
Greenie scrubbed at his eyes, turning a full circle. He couldn’t stop crying, the tears just kept coming. His chest heaved in a sort of heavy panic. The crowd had dissipated- at some point Alby had told them to shove off- and it was just the three of them now. Grass was all he could see for miles in one direction, and in another a dense, leafy forest grew tall and proud. In the distance were tall walls, taller than he'd ever seen before (than he thought he'd ever have seen before anyway). They were grey, perhaps stone or concrete, and even from so far away he could see they were covered in thick vines. He couldn’t help the sudden sick feeling he got when he looked at them.

  
Alby followed his gaze, “Don’t go near those walls, Greenie.” His voice was firm, but laced with a touch of fear. Greenie wondered what could put that much fear into a guy like Alby. Alby seemed strong, unmovable.

  
“What’s past the walls?” He asked, turning his face up to Alby again. He could see conflicting emotions on the other’s face, before sorrow took over.

  
It was Newt who answered him. “The maze kiddo. You don’t wanna go there, understand? It’s not allowed- ‘cept for the runners.”

  
“Who are the runners?”

  
“Enough questions.” Alby cut in. “You’ll learn stuff later- or you can ask around. But if we do this now we’ll be doing it till tomorrow morning.” He shook his head. “Shuckin’ creators. A shuckin’ child.” He caught Greenie’s eye. “It’s probably your bedtime or some shit.”

  
It was still light out, but the sky had a reddish glow to it.

  
Alby looked at Newt, “Deal with him.” He said. “Maybe find Chuck? They’re the closest in age. Try and stop the blubbering will you? He doesn’t look like he’s feeling too good.”

  
Newt nodded, and then turned to Greenie. He leant over, putting a hand on his shoulder . “Okay kiddo,” He frowned at the tears still covering the child’s face. “You’re gonna be okay. It just takes a while to get used to.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Shuck, I don’t know how to do this.”

  
“I don’t know anything.” Greenie whispered. “I don’t even know my name.” There was something about Newt he trusted. Perhaps the intense calm he projected.

  
Newt reached out and pulled the boy into a half hug. “You’ll be okay.” He said softly. “It’s scary at first. ‘Specially with Alby runnin’ around like he’s some sort of general. You get used to him after a bit- he’s a softy really. And you come to see it’s necessary.”

  
Greenie nodded. “Okay.” He sniffled, and pulled his sleeve over his hand to swipe at his face.

  
“There are two rules you have to follow here. You don’t have a choice with these, understand?”

  
He nodded again.

  
Newt’s voice was suddenly stern. “Never go into the maze. That’s what's beyond those walls. You don’t ever go there understand.” He paused. “And never harm another Glader. Although in self-defence you can do what you need to keep yourself alive.” He watched Greenie for a sign of comprehension. “You got that?”

  
Greenie’s mouth was suddenly dry. “I got it.” His lips trembled and he closed his eyes against another sheen of tears.

  
“Shuck, Greenie.” Newt suddenly looked worried. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He shook his head. “It won’t happen to you, you know. It hardly ever does. And nobody’s gonna go picking fights with a little boy.”

  
Greenie just sobbed, and suddenly he was wailing the way a frightened child would if they were alone and lost in a strange place full of strange people. His cries were heart-wrenching- high pitched and panicked, and his chest rasped and heaved in a worrying way. He felt like he was choking on air.

  
He was suddenly pulled against someone. They brought their arms around him and rocked and shushed. “It’s okay.” Newt’s voice whispered. “Please don’t cry, kiddie. You’re going to be okay.”  
He was sure he was getting Newt’s t-shirt damp, but the older boy didn’t seem to mind.

  
“Breathe, Greenbean.” Newt sounded properly worried. “Like me, see? In and out. There you go.”

  
Greenie felt his gasps slowly even out, as he copied Newt’s over exaggerated breathing. “I’m sorry.” He choked out.

 

“Don’t be.” Newt rubbed his back. “You think that’s the first panic attack I’ve dealt with? Besides, you’re handling it a lot better than most Gladers first do, especially given your age.”

  
“I remember my age.” Greenie said suddenly. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. “I think-” He hesitated. It was like some sort of a mental block but- “I think my name too."

  
Newt pulled away so he could look the child in the eyes. “Yeah?” He sounded almost excited. “It doesn’t always come this quickly.”

  
Greenie nodded. “I think- I think my name is Thomas.” His voice was shaking and he didn’t even know why. “I’m twelve.” It felt like it should have been a dazzling revelation. But it didn't even feel right to say. The words felt foreign on his tongue, though he knew them to be true.  "I'm Thomas." He said again, "I'm not Greenie." He liked Greenie better.

  
“Okay.” Newt pulled the trembling child into another hug. “Okay, that’s good. You remember. That’s really good.” He stood to his full height and held out a hand. “Come on now, I need to introduce you to Chuck. He’s a good kid, he’ll help to sort you out.”

Chuck. Alby said something about a Chuck. That was a funny name. He giggled, and Newt looked at him in surprise at the sound. 

  
Thomas- Thomas was his name now- let himself be led towards a group of wooden huts. They were well-built, sturdy structures, and he found himself wondering who had built them. Surely not the Gladers? Though he supposed it might be possible. One of the men started to walk towards the two of them, and as they got closer it became apparent that he wasn’t a man, but a boy, perhaps mid-teens.

  
“Hiya.” He grinned. He was kind of chubby, and only half a foot taller than Thomas. “I’m Chuck.” He had an easy going look on his face.

  
Thomas found himself liking the boy immediately.

  
Newt turned Thomas to face him, his hands resting on his shoulders, “You’ll be alright, won’t you? With Chuck I mean?" He looked worried, and Thomas felt something clench inside him. There was something unfamiliar about that amount of genuine compassion. He swallowed back tears that tried to fall down his face.

 

"I don't know Chuck." Thomas said. Suddenly he really didn't want Newt to go.

  
A high-pitched keening filled the air around them.

  
Newt’s face went white. "I'm sorry Tommy." His voice sounded urgent. "I have to go. Alby needs me." He glanced helplessly at Chuck. “Look after him.” He managed, before he ran towards the furthest hut. It was larger than the others, and it looked like it had two storeys. The wailing was coming from there, and with each second it seemed to grow in intensity.

  
Thomas felt cold. The atmosphere had altered in a few seconds- all of the Gladers around them had stopped what they were doing, their faces just as pale as Newt’s had been.

  
Chuck reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. His face was just as kind as Newt’s had been. “Why don’t we have a look at where you’re sleeping, Thomas?”

  
He let himself be pulled away, the screaming still ringing across the Glade.

  
Where was he?


End file.
